


How to Raise a Mandalorian

by ambiguously



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:54:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26572516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambiguously/pseuds/ambiguously
Summary: Din is very new to this, but he's going to figure out a way to raise this child and find these Jedi, whatever they are.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 181
Collections: Fic In A Box





	How to Raise a Mandalorian

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nununununu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/gifts).



As soon as they were in hyperspace, Din glanced over at the child. The Mythosaur necklace was already back in his mouth. Din sighed. The boy put everything in his mouth, from control knobs to Sorgan frogs. Din tried to remember the other Foundlings he'd been raised with, the younger ones, and how the Tribe had cared for them. He'd managed to keep the child fed and clean with the understanding this was a temporary arrangement, but 'temporary' had gone by the wayside along with so many other parts of his old life. The Armorer had declared Din to be as the boy's father until he could return him to his people, and he doubted they would stumble over a pack of Jedi tomorrow. The word 'Jedi' itself was more mythical than 'Mandalorian' had become.

The two of them were of the same clan. This child was now his child, whether he'd intended it or not. The responsibility he'd assumed on a whim now lay before him for what could be the rest of his life.

He bent his head. "I was adopted into my clan as a boy. In time, you may bring others into our clan, either your children by birth or by accepting a Foundling into your care. This is the way."

He was met with a quiet murmur. He looked at the child again. Foundlings put on the mask soon enough, but not in infancy, not before they could speak the words of the ritual oaths. He'd heard that some clans showed their faces all the time. Many of the less faithful had gone barefaced before the purge. One of the history reels he'd been shown had been recorded on Sundari, long, long ago. Young Din had watched, his mouth hanging open under his own first helmet, as the Duchess, ruler of Mandalore, had given a speech. Her pale face had shone free to the air and the sky, as did the faces in the audience listening, and her advisers at her side. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Mandalorian faces, crowded together as their leader spoke. Apostates, Vizsla had called them, scoffing, and the rest of the Tribe followed in his derision. A true Mandalorian must hold to the old ways, the true ways, or lose everything. Even then, Din had wondered about that. He thought it was too late to worry about losing everything, now that everything had been lost.

As he'd grown, he'd accepted what they had meant, and he'd sworn to honor what they would have wanted. Their traditions, the true traditions, were all he had left to offer his new son. The child would need armor of his own, though it would be no better than flimsy durasteel now that the beskar and the Armorer who forged it were lost. He would teach the child to forge his own armor, as children learned. The history reels had told him most Mandalorians were human, but not all had been. The boy's helmet could be forged to encompass his long ears.

He thought perhaps he would regret covering the child's beautiful eyes when the time came. He wondered how many parents had felt the same.

He picked up the child, setting him on his lap. "You are Mandalorian. We walk the Way of the Mandalore. You will learn the customs, learn our ways, and keep them among outsiders, even when it is hard. Especially when it is hard," he emphasized, poking a gloved finger gently at the child's chest, making him smile around the spit-covered Mythosaur.

"First, there must be honor in all your say and do." He tilted his head. "You don't say much. I like that about you. That means we're going to focus on your actions instead. Never commit to an action you do not intend to see the end of."

The child babbled agreeably around the Mythosaur.

"Sure, you say that now. You've got a power I don't understand, and I've seen you use it for good and bad." The child's ears tilted. "You know exactly what I mean. You can heal injuries, but you also tried to choke Cara." The Mythosaur was shoved further into his mouth and his eyes narrowed in personal amusement. "No, it was not funny. You can't use your powers like that."

The child waved one stubby-fingered hand at him, and made a blurting noise. Din considered this.

"In defense of your life, or of the clan. I agree you can use your powers then. I am your clan, but you should consider Cara part of our clan if we see her again." The green ears wavered. "Maybe Greef. I'm not sure. Don't choke him unless he's trying to kill us, or if he annoys me too much." The child made a happy burble.

"That's enough for your first lesson. You have much to learn." And Din had much to remember. He'd been brought up among other Foundlings, and raised in the Way of the Mandalore by the whole Tribe. The child only had him, and he wanted to do this right. "For now, let's eat then figure out where we're headed next."

At the word 'eat,' the child dropped the necklace and raised his arms.

Din had been feeding the boy the same things he always ate, knowing nothing of his species or his needs. The child seemed to acquire protein preferentially. Greef had said he was likely a carnivore. Din wasn't as sure.

The _Razor Crest_ 's stores were running low. His first destination ought to be somewhere he could restock. He reached for a packet of nutrient powder, flipping the heater element to ready some water for broth. As the pot heated, he browsed his thin supplies, coming up with an old pack of protein strips and an even older rootato. He turned. Naturally the child had followed him to the galley, staring up at Din with his huge eyes, wise in the way of all babies.

"You like rootatoes?"

Din recalled his father, long ago, slicing and frying these in the seasoned oil all their food had cooked in, filling their home with thick, spicy smells. He'd never found a good substitute for the oil flavor. The Mandalorian cuisine he'd been fed had featured a different taste profile, more bland and filling than the complex layers of heat and acid his mouth remembered from childhood. But he could cook a rootato. With practiced ease, he sliced the slightly gummy tuber into pieces thin enough to see light through, and dropped them into the hot water. He stirred in the nutrient powder. Letting that simmer, he selected two of his three remaining protein strips, chopped them into small pieces, and added them to the stew.

"We'll let that cook for a while."

The child reached up towards the pot, and Din swept him into his arms. "No. Hot."

The boy made an indignant squeaking noise.

"It will hurt you, even with your magical healing powers or whatever that is you do."

Disgruntled, the child watched the boiling stew, and he shoved the Mythosaur back into his mouth.

"I know. It'll be ready shortly." He poked the boy's chest, eliciting a giggle as he tickled. "A Mandalorian must learn patience." His own stomach chose that moment to rumble, which brought out another giggle.

"A Mandalorian does not giggle," he said in a stern voice, but he knew his own smile could be heard surrounding the words, and the child matched his expression, his ears high and happy as Din removed the stew from the heater and dished it into two bowls.

After the meal, Din pulled up star charts. The Outer Rim was huge, and he needed to get lost in it, far from the ports where he was known or had been spotted, while he searched for traces of these mystical sorcerers. "We'll stop at Ryloth for supplies," he said. "You will stay aboard the _Razor Crest_ while I purchase what we need."

The boy stared back at him, and Din could practically hear his little thoughts whirring away in his head, deciding whether he would listen, or whether he would ignore the order as usual. "I know you don't like staying aboard the ship." Another stare. "It's for your own safety." Din was already marked as wanted, but there were Mandalorians in the galaxy. He was remarkable, but not unique. The child would draw stares and questions.

Din looked at him more closely, and he reconsidered. Ryloth might be one place the boy could, with some care, be passed off as unremarkable. Din went to his living area, digging through the shirts he used as warm layers under his armor. He pulled out an older shirt, its long sleeves worn through at the elbows. He carried the drab green shirt along with his mending kit to the cockpit, confirming their heading before he set to work. At times, he called the child over, holding his work up against the boy with a critical eye before returning to his task.

"This will fit you well enough," he told the child. The child looked at the shirt with suspicion. "Don't be like that. It will be fine."

* * *

Food and fuel were overpriced near the spaceport, but Din didn't want to risk venturing further into Lessu to find better deals. The child floated next to him, placidly looking out at the world through the hole in Din's repurposed shirt, the long sleeves covering his ears and giving him the look of a Twi'lek infant with his lekku covered for warmth against the chilly sunshine, not much different from other younglings out with their parents and caregivers today.

Din carried his purchases in a sturdy sack strapped across one shoulder. He paused at a shop selling books, data reels, and other media. The proprietor greeted him. In a thick Twi'lek accent, he said, "We have a fine selection of children's materials." Din saw the display he indicated, with large picture-books and datapads with early childhood programs, some in Basic, some in a Rylothian dialect he didn't speak.

The child's hands grabbed towards a brightly-colored book. To Din's horror, it began lifting from the shelf. He reached for it quickly, hoping the bookseller hadn't seen, and brought it to the boy. "You like the look of this one?" It appeared to be a storybook, filled with simple drawings of Twi'lek children. The child on the cover was a familiar green shade. Din smiled under his helmet. "You know this isn't you, don't you?" He felt the book tug from his hand towards the boy. "Fine."

Another children's book caught his eye. Din took it and flipped through the pages as the child tasted the corner of the storybook. To his concern, the bookseller came closer. Din recognized the look. "I'll pay for the book."

"Yes," said the bookseller, as if there had never been any doubt.

"Any more like this?" Din waved the book in his hand.

The bookseller took the book from him. "Stories about Jedi?"

"Stories. Facts." He nodded at the child. "My son can't get enough of them." He barely stumbled over the word 'son.' and it earned a harder look from the bookseller, glancing at the baby. Din stayed silent. He was passing the boy off as a Twi'lek, even with his strange, huge eyes. It might have been a bad misstep to identify him as a half-human. Twi'leks got touchy about that, as he recalled. The bookseller gave a tiny shrug of his shoulders, indicating money was money even from humans and their hybrid offspring. He turned back to Din with a friendly expression.

"In this section, I have this and this." He selected a datapad, which Din took with a grateful nod. "There are other selections in the rest of the store." He gave Din an appraising look. "For your son to read later." As he wandered through his shop, pulling down books, holocubes, and datapads, he said, "There was quite an interest in Jedi right after the Empire was defeated. Everyone was talking about Luke Skywalker and the return of the whole Jedi Order." Din inclined his head as though he understood anything the man said besides the word 'Empire.' The Jedi were an Order? Some man named Skywalker was involved? Din had more questions than he dared ask. The bookseller said, "Not as much interest now. I've had these in stock for a while."

Eventually they left the store with three children's titles, and seven more weighing down the sack beside the food. Din acquired coaxium at the spaceport itself, handing over more credits than he liked, especially after wasting so many at the bookstore.

"This better be useful," he said, getting the boy settled with the soggy picture book, then setting the other books and datapads nearby. They lifted off, broke atmosphere, and headed into hyperspace on a course for Hypori. Din reached for one of his new datapads about Jedi, but he caught the look the child gave him. With a sigh, he took the rapidly-decaying picture book instead and read aloud the adventures of Theesa and Toru and their mischievous tooka friend Karliss. Twice.

Once the boy was satisfied, Din returned to his own reading. As a peace offering, he read the children's book aloud first. The Armorer had said the Jedi were sorcerers, and the legends he remembered from childhood had called them evil wizards who'd fought the brave Mandalorians of the past. The book in his hands didn't have as many illustrations as the other, eschewing garish inks for simple line drawings. The story was as simple: a young Twi'lek Jedi named Nal was on an adventure. Nal had a laser sword and a furry sidekick named Ziya. The boy didn't enjoy this one as much, playing with his necklace instead of paying rapt attention as he had to his other story.

"This has nothing," said Din, setting aside the book. The boy handed him Theesa and Toru again. "We read that one already." The little green hand waved the book at him. Din gave in and read it three more times.

* * *

Most of his purchases turned out to be little more useful than the book about Nal and Ziya. The holocubes were dry histories, reprints of earlier books about the Jedi, brought back to the public after the Empire's fall. One book was a series of political essays debating the role of the Jedi on the galactic stage during the end of the Republic era. Din hadn't even known the Jedi had been involved in galactic politics, and a number of the essayists clearly thought they shouldn't have been. Others disagreed, touting the benefits the warrior-monks had brought to the galaxy over a thousand years. All agreed the genocide had been a terrible tragedy, although some of them said so with a disturbing undertone suggesting the Jedi had deserved their fate, and Din could only wonder if the same writers said the same thing about the destruction of his own people. None of the essays had anything to say about Jedi living now.

In another book, he read an abbreviated history of the Jedi war against the Mandalorians, no more than a brief footnote on an otherwise dull page. The sorcerers had hated the Mandalorians. Din looked at the child again as he played with the shiny objects he used as his toys, floating them in the air in front of his tiny green hands. If the boy was given to the Jedi, he might grow to hate the very clan he'd been adopted into. That was reason enough alone to abandon this search before it began.

The Armorer's words preyed on his mind. The responsibility had been given to Din to find this boy's people. A Mandalorian did not turn away from duty, even a duty destined to break his heart when his child left him for people sworn to his destruction. He could raise this boy as a Mandalorian for as long as he could, but when they found the Jedi, if any even still lived, the child would set aside that life for the one he'd been born to.

He fell asleep listening to a holocube about ancient Jedi. In his dreams, he stalked the empty hallways of a vast, echoing temple, searching for something. He opened door after door, finding more winding passageways.

When he woke, his neck was sore and the child was attempting to eat the control yoke.

"Stop that. I'll make breakfast."

* * *

He listened to the holocube again after they ate, and he paid attention this time. The story it told was similar to Nal's story: a Jedi went on a quest and learned many things about herself along the way. This tale wasn't fiction, though. The Jedi in the story had lived a century ago, and her life's purpose had been researching the history of her own kind. Her journey had brought her to Siskeen in search of an abandoned Jedi temple, but her quest was cut short there by another discovery. The holocube followed the Jedi and what she had uncovered, but Din rewound the tale to that part again.

Siskeen wasn't far from their current destination. He opened his other sources, scanning for other references to the same planet. Nothing jumped out, although he learned there were potentially thousands of Jedi temples scattered across the galaxy. The Empire would have tried to eradicate them all, but they may have been as haphazard in that destruction as they'd been in destroying Din's home and culture. There was a chance surviving Jedi would return to the remaining temples now that the Empire had been defeated. He had no better place to start.

"We're going to Siskeen."

The child made a curious noise and went back to gumming his book.

* * *

Siskeen was a spit of a planet in the Hunnoverrs sector. Din had seen it on his charts and ignored it for years. Once a thriving world full of commerce, the climate had changed abruptly due to a rogue object entering the solar system and changing the planet's orbit as it passed through, leaving the lush planet a dry, dull hulk where those too impoverished to leave still eked out their miserable lives clinging to the glorious past. Not unlike too many other worlds he'd visited, he thought, but one free from either Imperial Remnant or New Republic interest.

"You can come," he said, settling the child into his floating pram. "I don't expect to find much."

Skyscrapers dotted the cityscape of the main settlement, but even to his eyes, they were ancient, tottering things with broken panels and yawning windows open to the sky. Everywhere in the city were signs of prosperity long gone and sorely-missed, from the chipped walls of the religious buildings to the large but decaying homes of the locals. The newest building he saw was the Imperial depot, where whatever luckless clerks and their attendant stormtroopers assigned to this planet had worked, and by the scorch marks still showing on the walls, their bad luck had pursued them into their deaths.

Children wearing little more than rags ran through the streets, the innocent joy in their play not yet stamped down by the understanding of what they might have had in another, better time. His boy watched them with curious longing. "Not today," said Din, understanding as he said it that he was making a promise to find playmates for the boy soon enough. A child could not grow up happy without peers, even if those peers were humans or Wookiees rather than his own species.

Credits at a cantina found him a guide more than happy to show him the local sights. "Everyone knows the story of the Jedi temple," he said. "Back in the days of the Great Republic, leaders often invited Jedi to build their commanderies on their worlds, for protection."

Din had been in the bounty hunting business long enough to know what 'protection' meant. It meant the bigger party moved in, and forced the smaller party to pay and pay for less and less help. "I see."

"The Jedi built the settlement at Borzmys. It's twenty clicks from the city, well worth a visit." His smile was wide, and his palm didn't have to be open for Din to know he would expect a payment for taking them there.

"How long ago?"

"Seven hundred years."

"Not in human memory, then."

"No, but the stories say many Jedi weren't human. Long-lived species take a different perspective on things."

Din didn't turn his head, and he didn't look at the child. Fifty years old, the original bounty had claimed, and Din had no reason to doubt it. How long might the boy, or another like him, eventually live? He appeared and acted like a human child of perhaps one or two years. He might live for a thousand more, and Din could spend a full life at his side and be nothing more than a dim memory after the first century or so.

Din pulled out a credit strip. "Tell me some of the stories you know."

* * *

He left his guide in the city, choosing to take the _Razor Crest_ to the settlement himself. The stories he'd heard about the Jedi were colorful and confusing: wizards and sorcerers, great military leaders, wise philosopher priests of the Force, but the stories also told of a demagogue calling himself a Jedi who had terrorized this sector some years ago.

Borzmys rose from the plain with heavy fortifications unlike the sweeping, decayed buildings in the city. The citizens looked much like the rest of the people of this world: mostly human, busy with their work and their families, not especially interested in the sight of a Mandalorian or his child beside him. The two of them wandered the neatly laid out streets, the narrow roads surrounding a central town square with a stone brick cylindrical tower standing high above the rest, looking over the thick walls and gates of the settlement.

They weren't the only visitors. As Din listened in, a small group of interested tourists were given a brief history of the tower, and shown how closely the stones fit together without mortar or durapaste to fuse them. The Jedi had been great builders, once.

The two of them fell behind the tour group, following them to what he was surprised to see was a temple right out there in the open. "They just left it here for anyone to see?" he asked, unable to contain the question. The Jedi in the holocube hadn't been able to locate this temple at all, according to the story. He added, remembering the other guide's stories, "I thought the Empire would have destroyed it."

The tour guide said, "You're a Mandalorian."

Din looked down at his armor through his helmet. He didn't see the need to answer.

"The Empire did come," she said, in a somewhat put out tone. "But there was nothing here they found of interest. This building was a school long ago, a place where the Jedi taught any who wished to learn."

"But they left," said a girl in the tour group.

"They did. The galaxy turned, and their attention moved away from Siskeen." She led them into the small temple, built with the same sturdy construction as the rest of the buildings here. Din saw there had once been murals painted on the walls, now heavily defaced with Imperial graffiti and cruel, casual splashes of cheap paint. "The Empire left their mark inside. We haven't had the funds to restore the murals to their former glory, but the historical society has been trying to raise enough money to bring in a restoration artist." She indicated the collection box. A few credits jingled into it as the group passed by. Din gave one credit to the child, and let him drop it in to listen to the pleasant sound it made clinking against the rest.

A hand raised. "What about the underground tunnels?"

The tour guide gave a pleased smile. "I'm glad you asked. Yes, we've all heard stories about the secret tunnels under Borzmys, and the temple below ground. Many have come looking over the years, thinking the Jedi left a treasure in some hidden place under our feet. The Empire came and dug. They found nothing." She led them to a window, looking out on a garden. "We planted over their work as soon as they departed. The grangia blossoms are the pride of the whole town. There is no secret temple in Borzmys. That's just a myth."

His hopes had already faded. The Jedi had been here long ago, but none remained, and there was no secret hideaway for them to return to now. This was a tourist attraction, nothing more.

The tour moved on. Din stayed, squinting at the painted-over murals. He could make out vague shapes of arms, robes, nothing more. The child looked around the room with what could have been familiarity but was more likely the same interested look he gave everything he encountered, typically right before he stuck it into his mouth.

"Sorry," said Din. "I was hoping we'd find someone here." He approached a wall, staring at the same place he'd seen the child looking. Under the paint and the graffiti, he thought he could make out a shape with the same long, pointed ears, and a hint of green. It could also be his tired imagination. "There's nothing here. Let's get back to the ship. You're probably getting hungry again."

At the word 'hungry,' the boy's attention turned squarely back to Din.

The tour guide came back into the temple alone. "Were you looking for something?"

Din turned his helmet to the wall beside him. "I was thinking what a shame it is that the art was lost."

"Are you an art enthusiast?" At his sudden freeze, she gave him a worried smile. "I ask because the artist we're hoping will come restore the murals is a Mandalorian like you. If you're also an artist...."

"I'm not. Just an admirer." He craned his head up and hazarded a guess at what he should say: "Nice brushwork on the murals underneath the Imperial garbage."

Her face lit up. "I agree! I've studied them for years, learning about their techniques." At his confused head tilt, she said, "We have recordings of the original murals. We sell full color copies at the gift shop, but I have a few on hand I could show you."

"Thank you." She took that as an affirmative and ducked behind a roped-off area, returning with a handful of glossy flimsiplasts. Din took them, glancing through the ancient pictures until he found the one that had caught his attention. A small green figure looking very much like his boy stood among other figures, some human, some species he had not encountered, all holding the same bright laser swords from the picture books. The painting technique was nothing he would recognize, but the swords appeared to glow even on the copy's page. "Can you tell me about the mural?"

"It commemorates the founding of the temple. This mural," she showed him one he cared less about, "shows the Jedi who founded the settlement. Many other Jedi came to Borzmys upon completion of the structures here, as you can see here." She indicated the mural with the creature who looked like the child.

"Seven hundred years ago."

"Seven hundred twenty seven," she corrected with the surety of someone who had given this tour many times.

Whoever the small green Jedi had been, he was long gone from this place, even if his species lived to be a thousand. "I like the stylistic choices," he said, because it sounded arty. He looked at the pages a little longer, and showed the child well out of his reach, before handing them back to her.

The tour guide had a secretive look. "Do you want to see one of the murals?"

Din looked at the walls and shrugged.

"Not these. These will be restored one day. But not all of them were destroyed." She went back to the roped-off area. "I think you'll like this one. This is why we're hoping to hire that particular artist." She opened the rope and gestured. Mystified, Din and the child followed her into the back.

"We're very proud of our temple here," she said. "We don't have much to be proud of on Siskeen these days. But this temple was ours, had been ours for centuries. Even after the Jedi left, it belonged to our grandparents, and great-grandparents. It's been a school, a museum, even a church. It is our history."

Din considered the repurposed rooms in the covert. "Yes."

"We knew the Empire was coming. The people of Borzmys knew they'd destroy whatever they found that remained of the Jedi, so we preserved everything we could. We built walls inside the inner rooms, covering over the temple walls with plain stone, and hung some old tapestries over top. The stormtroopers tore down the tapestries, but they left the new walls."

Din saw the evidence of the construction and removal, how the stone had been built over in front of the walls. The new structure would have blended in perfectly with the thick walls in this edifice. "We kept the paintings safe for twenty years," she said, her voice filled with pride at her home and her people. He understood, just as he understood why she'd allowed him back here.

There were two murals, and he would look at the other in time, but the first captured his attention. The central figure wore a helmet like his, and the artist had rendered in silvery paint the glitter of his beskar armor. In his hands was a laser sword, dark and sparkling. He knew that sword, had heard it spoken of by Vizsla and the others in the Tribe. "That's the Darksaber."

"Yes, I believe that's what that lightsaber was called. Tarre Vizsla was a Jedi."

"But he was a Mandalorian." Din stared at the mural, the colors popping out from the wall even after all these centuries. "I thought you could be one or the other. They fought each other."

"They did. The war was famous. But some Mandalorians became Jedi. He did."

Wonder filled him. "Thank you for showing me this. It's stunning."

"You're welcome. We don't let visitors back here often because as you can see, even with the protective stones, this piece has taken on some damage. We'll ask the artist to work on these before we open them to the public. In the meantime, you can purchase a copy at the gift shop. All proceeds benefit the restoration efforts."

"How long do you think it will take?"

"We're several thousand credits short of what we need. But the paintings have been here for centuries. They have time to wait."

* * *

Back aboard the _Razor Crest_ , Din placed his new purchases into the space he was starting to set aside as the child's play area. He'd bought two of the glossy picture books for sale at the gift shop, saving one and carefully removing the pages from the other. He affixed the picture of Tarre Vizsla by where the baby slept, out of the reach of his hands. If he used his powers to grab it, Din wouldn't be able to stop him, but he'd bought a spare for reasons.

He took his other book now, and pulled the boy onto his lap. "You and I are of the Mudhorn Clan, House Vizsla. This is Tarre Vizsla. He is our ancestor." He read the brief description of the picture and the history, nodding to himself. "He was a Mandalorian, and he was a Jedi. When the times comes for you to choose, you can also choose both. You must bring honor to both your peoples. This is the way."

The baby stuffed his pendant into his mouth and he gazed at Din with his huge eyes, and Din knew somehow that he understood.

**Author's Note:**

> Concept and details about the Jedi outpost were swiped shamelessly from a story about the Knights Templar.


End file.
